


Perfect Imperfection

by bluevalentine69



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Porn, Arthur is Long-Suffering and In Love, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Bottom Merlin (Merlin), Boys Kissing, Caring Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Chemsex, Closeted Character, Comedy, Degradation, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Gangbang, Hunith is a BAMF, Hurt Merlin (Merlin), Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Internalized Homophobia, Lols, M/M, Merlin is Mad as a Hatter, Non-Consensual Barebacking, Orgy, Oxford, Rimming, Setting - Oxford University, Top Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), aggressive sex, big feels, dub-con, yes I made that a thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2019-10-30 17:15:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17832770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluevalentine69/pseuds/bluevalentine69
Summary: Arthur and Merlin meet during Freshers' Week at Oxford University. Arthur is immediately drawn to the madness of Merlin, and they bond over sci-fi, Sorting Ceremonies, board game cafés, Super Mario, and 'gay' cider.The problem is: Arthur's not ready to be openly gay. And it seems that Merlin's beaming smiles and irresistible ridiculousness hides a deeper vulnerability too ...Somehow, none of that seems to matter when they're together.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Chemsex refers to men using drugs to facilitate sex with other men. Culturally, it often refers to "chemsex parties", where groups of gay and bisexual men meet up, get high, and have sex with each other - usually with multiple partners, and for hours or days at a time. Users take cocktails of drugs to feel relaxed and aroused, and to make anal sex easier and less painful. It's an increasingly reported - and worrying - phenomenon in the LGBT community, widely discussed for its dangerousness: a lot of men die, or risk exposure to HIV. 
> 
> It's explored a little in this fiction, because it shouldn't be romanticised; it's lethal, and we should be talking about its dangerousness to properly inform and educate young people. 
> 
> If you, or anyone you know, is affected by this topic, please seek help.

****The first time Arthur sees him is during Freshers’ Week. He’s leaning against the sticky wall of Magdalen’s JCR drinking whisky, like his father taught him to, half-watching his old rugby mates from Eton playing pool, and half enjoying the gentle buzz of inebriation and new-found feeling of _freedom_. He’s away from his father for the first time in eighteen years - even if it is at Oxford studying History and Politics, rather than Edinburgh studying Medieval History like he’d always wanted, but at least it’s not PPE, and Oxford’s fine. Most of his friends and family friends are here, the rugby and rowing scene is good, and the city’s nice enough.

 

There’s a noisy crowd gathering around some old church pews in the far corner of the room. State school kids. It’s a mix of boys and girls, all drinking pints of beer and cider in plastic cups, all trying to flip coins into each other’s drinks (if someone gets a coin in your cup, you drink two fingers). One boy giggling helplessly has a pint glass pretty much half-full of coppers, and he gamely drinks another two fingers as a dark-haired girl pings in another penny from the floor. He snorts as he drains his cup and gets a mouthful of coins, using his forearm to wipe his face dry. Everyone is laughing and applauding him, and Arthur feels a sudden sadness at how happy and _normal_ they all are. His stomach twists in knots as he examines the boy further. Messy dark hair curling around his ears, dancing, impish blue eyes, pale skin flushed pink with alcohol and enthusiasm, all coltish slender awkward limbs, relaxed in grubby plimsols, faded boyfriend jeans and a loose, grey _Death Cab for Cutie_ t-shirt. He smiles with his whole face and radiates bright, playful energy, and Arthur is transfixed. As if he knows he’s being watched, he looks up suddenly and grins when he finds Arthur staring, raising an inquisitive eyebrow, lips quirked in amusement. Arthur raises an eyebrow back, hand quickly searching his back pocket for some coins, and finding what he needs - without breaking eye contact - he sets his glass down, gets into position, and takes careful aim. The coin bounces into the smiling boy’s now re-filled glass. His face crinkles with laughter and he and his friends applaud Arthur’s skill as he raises his glass and downs another two fingers.

 

Later, they’re on the trance floor at Bridge, one of Oxford’s favourite student nightclubs, and Arthur sees him again, dropping low to the floor, enthusiastically bopping around like a maniac, pale skin glowing blue in the lights, narrow waist and hipbones on full display every time his shirt rides up. It shouldn’t be sexy, but it somehow _is_. He goes out for a cigarette at about 2am with Leon and Percy and sees him again, pressed up against a brick wall, one plimsolled foot on the ground, the other against the wall, head thrown back and eyes closed as a muscly, dreadlocked black man sucks his neck and rubs his crotch. Arthur averts his gaze, half-choked with desire, and smiles as Percy pulls over two blonde, preppy private school girls, wearing tiny dresses and heels that make them look like circus stilt-walkers.

 

He ends up back in the JCR sometime around 4.30am, and continues to drink whisky until he passes out in the pile of other sweaty undergraduates on the floor/furniture, as space allows.

 

*

 

The following week, he’s sitting waiting for his first seminar to start, when he feels someone looking at him. He turns his head to the right and sees smiling-boy poking his head out from the line of people along their row of seats and waving at him enthusiastically. Arthur nods in acknowledgment, trying not to smile at his endearing grin and the way his ears stick out from his curls like he’s a fawn. He fails, and the boy takes his smile as an invitation, eagerly clambering up from his seat hugging a ripped backpack and climbing over the legs of all the people between him and Arthur, apologising profusely with an irresistible, dimpled grin, until he reaches the empty seat beside Arthur and plonks himself down.

“Merlin,” he says, sticking out his hand. “You pennied me in Freshers’?” Arthur glances at the purple bruises on his neck and feels a mixture of lust and jealousy.

“I remember,” he acknowledges with a smirk. “Did you put a magnet in your glass or something?” Merlin grins.

“I put the first twenty pennies in,” he admits, widening his eyes at Arthur’s raised eyebrow. “What?” he asks innocently. “ _Someone_ has to get the party started.” Arthur looks at his neck again _. Some party_. Merlin flushes when he sees where Arthur’s looking, suddenly a puddle of embarrassed shyness. He bites his lip awkwardly. “What’s your name?” he asks, reaching down to extract a battered looking laptop covered in Jedi stickers from his ruined bag. “Looks like I’ll be seeing a lot of you. Both History, same college and all!” He sounds a bit like he’s babbling nervously.

“Arthur,” Arthur says, extending a hand. He points at Merlin’s laptop. “Sci-fi fan?” Merlin nods.

“Oh god, I’m such a nerd.” He makes a helpless _please like me anyway_ face, and Arthur snorts at his pleading expression.

“Nerds are cool with me,” Arthur says. “My big sister was kind of fantasy obsessed - Star Wars, Star Trek, all the Marvel superhero franchises, Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, Game of Thrones, Doctor Who … I was raised on geekdom.” He looks pointedly at Merlin’s stickers. “I don’t wear badges to advertise that fact, however.” Merlin is somehow glowing with excitement, suddenly gripping the front of Arthur’s shirt with both hands - to Arthur’s considerable surprise - and shaking Arthur like a snow globe.

“Have you been Sorted?” Arthur shakes his head.

“What?”

“The Sorting Ceremony! On Pottermore!” Arthur wrinkles up his nose.

“What are you talking about, _Mer_ lin?” he says in imperious, bedazzled amusement. Merlin groans and puts his head in his hands, _scandalised_ , apparently, sliding out a beaten up Samsung from his pocket and connecting to the university WiFi.

“It’s fine,” Merlin says to himself, typing something into Google. “We’ll _Sort_ you out in no time!” He chuckles at his own joke and looks up at Arthur from beneath his lashes. “ _Sort_?” he re-emphasises. Arthur looks at him deadpan. “No?” He goes back to his phone. “I can see you’re going to be very hard work,” he muses. “That’s okay, you’ll grow to like me.”

“Presumptuous,” Arthur comments. Merlin widens his eyes imploringly.

“Who wouldn’t like me?” he asks sadly, and Arthur _literally_ can’t resist his puppy eyes and internally growls at himself for being such a drip.

“Oh fine,” he huffs, “you’re adorable. Probably a Hufflepuff with a unicorn wand and a bunny rabbit Patronus, yes?” Merlin beams and rests his head on Arthur’s shoulder, nuzzling under his jaw.

“You’re so cute!” he exclaims happily, popping back up and handing his phone to Arthur. “Gryffindor, Silver Birch and Dragon Heartstring, Dragon, actually.” He pats Arthur arm placatingly. “I do love unicorns and bunny rabbits though,” he reassures him, nodding at Arthur to begin the test. The lecture starts and Arthur has to surreptitiously keep the phone under the bench whilst he tries to work out _toad or cat_ , and _beach or woods_ , feeling more like he’s just arrived at Hogwarts than Oxford, and faintly appalled at himself for acting like he’s _eleven_ rather than concentrating on his first seminar. He places the phone on the desk between himself and Merlin whilst the sorting hat makes its decision, and then squawks under his breath in outrage when it pronounces him a Slytherin. Merlin collapses into giggles next to him, head resting on his unopened laptop, and _really_ , Arthur thinks _, it’s not that bloody funny_ , but Merlin is rolling around, shoulders shaking, and Arthur just rolls his eyes and tries to concentrate on what Professor Kilgarrah is saying about Theories of the state and Radicalism in Great Britain. He pointedly starts to make notes - by hand, because he hates computers - and tries to ignore Merlin, who is doodling snakes with a pink highlighter in the margins of his notebook. He grabs Merlin’s hand, currently drawing a speech bubble from the snake’s mouth with a _Hiiiiisssssss_ and writes YOU’RE AN IDIOT in block capitals on his palm. Merlin flushes happily and pulls Arthur’s hand over in retaliation, scrawling _you’re a snaky dollophead_ across the back of his hand, with his mobile number underneath. He re-caps his pen with a flourish, smiling broadly as Arthur shakes his head at him in mock disapproval.

 

He’s leaving campus at 5.30am on Saturday morning to go to his first Rowing practice when he sees Merlin asleep by the Porter’s lodge, shivering in the Autumn dawn, eye slightly bruised and lip split. He carefully shakes him awake and Merlin opens his eyes with a grumble, blinking in confusion as he sees Arthur.

“What?” he mumbles, looking about himself uncomprehendingly.

“Are you drunk?” Arthur asks scathingly, checking his watch - he can’t be late for first practice. Merlin shakes his head in confusion.

“I didn’t drink anything,” he says, rubbing his face. “I think I took something some guy gave me at this party.” He shrugs. “I don’t really remember. We were fucking. Guess he was a gentleman and dropped me home afterwards!” He smiles and winces as he feels his lip crack, and Arthur feels horrified by everything coming out of Merlin’s mouth. Sighing, he heaves Merlin to his feet and walks him towards his rooms.

“If you make me late for Rowing, I swear our friendship is over,” he mutters, dragging a semi-coherent Merlin down the cobbled pathway towards his room, and then along the cobwebby corridor, and then finally pushing him into his unmade bed, pulling off his shoes and dragging the duvet over him. Merlin snuggles into Arthur’s pillows, inhaling deeply, and something inside Arthur pulls taught, ready to snap. Merlin peers up at Arthur, looking like nothing so much as a little woodland creature hibernating. _Oh for fuck’s sake_ , Arthur’s brain groans.

“You said we were friends,” Merlin mumbles sleepily. Arthur crouches down and nods, checking his face for further damage. “So you _do_ like me!” Merlin exclaims triumphantly, and Arthur rolls his eyes.

“Go to sleep, annoying person. Don’t leave this room until I come back. There’s water and juice in the fridge if you’re thirsty. And aspirin in the bedside drawer.” Arthur makes to stand up, but Merlin sneaks a hand out from under the covers and squeezes his fingers, leaning forwards to place a kiss to his fingertips.

“Thank you for looking after me,” he whispers, and Arthur strokes his cheek before leaving him to sleep.

 

Rowing is hard - but fun. Arthur loves the camaraderie, the ache in his muscles, the feeling of powering through the water, the rush of air. He tumbles back into his room, sweaty and enthusiastic, forgetting he has a visitor, and is therefore stopped short to see Merlin curled up on a towel on top of his sheets, damp hair tousled, naked save for boxers, whole body covered in bruises. He must have woken up for a shower and gone back to bed. Arthur takes a quick shower in his en-suite too, letting the soapy orange-smelling bubbles wash over him, and dries off thoroughly before pulling on clean boxers and joggers and heading back into his room. Merlin smiles at him as soon as he opens the door.

“You’re really handsome,” he says quietly, subconsciously rubbing his cheek against Arthur’s pillow again. Arthur sits on the bed beside him and runs gentle fingers over his bruises.

“Who did this?” he asks. Merlin shrugs.

“People.” Arthur raises his eyebrows. “Guys I mess around with,” Merlin explains. Arthur frowns.

“You like them hurting you?” he asks, genuinely confused. Merlin shakes his head vehemently.

“ _No_ ,” he says emphatically. “I’m not, like, into BDSM or anything!” he half-laughs, a little ruefully. “I guess … well, one night stands are just about aggressive fucking, right? There’s not, like, any need to be gentle or anything. It’s just dudes who get a bit rough … carried away in the moment or what have you. I don’t mind.”

“I’ve never bruised a one-night stand,” Arthur says quietly, stroking Merlin’s face. “You’re beautiful Merlin. Lovely, and beautiful. I think you deserve more than this.” He gestures again at the bruises. Merlin flushes, burying his head in the pillow.

“No-one’s ever called me beautiful before,” he scoffs, a little bemused, a lot doubtful, inwardly pleased and surprised. Arthur can’t believe that. Merlin is by far the most beautiful person he’s ever met.

“Well, you are,” he says firmly. “Although you look like a blotter pad right now.” Merlin grins self-deprecatingly, gazing at Arthur. “How’d you feel about pancakes at the News Café? My treat.” Merlin sits up immediately, hair sticking up everywhere, and makes grabby hands at Arthur like a baby to lift him up. Arthur rolls his eyes. “You know you’re here to learn to be a grown-up, right?” he grumbles as he pulls Merlin to his feet, breath catching in his throat as he finds Merlin’s narrow, mostly naked, wiry frame pressed to his front.

“I’m here to learn more about _History_ , actually,” Merlin says categorically, turning around to find his clothes. “For the sake of humanity we need to learn from the mistakes of the past so we don’t repeat them in future.”

“Shouldn’t the same principle apply for your _own_ sake?” Arthur says pointedly, arms crossed. Merlin pulls a t-shirt over his head.

“Fucking about isn’t a ‘mistake’,” he retorts archly, “in this day and age it’s quite normal.”

“What about fucking about with people who pump you with drugs, fuck you whilst you’re unconscious, and leave you in a bruised pile outside the gates of your college?” Arthur’s voice is carefully controlled, but he’s furious - with Merlin too, for _choosing_ to put himself in such dangerous situations. Merlin pulls on his jeans quietly, sitting on the bed to pull on his pumps too. He shivers. Arthur finds an old football polo and throws it to him to put on. Merlin slips it over his head, looking dwarfed and even smaller in Arthur’s much bigger clothes.

“Don’t be angry with me,” he pleads, peeking up at Arthur pathetically, jumping up from the bed and lightly head butting Arthur’s chin in apology. “After pancakes we can go to Thirsty Meeple’s and drink tea and play board games! Have you ever played Bananagrams?” In frustration, Arthur grips Merlin’s waist and presses a hot, hungry kiss to his lips, secretly thrilling at Merlin’s surprised moan, the way he arches his whole body into Arthur’s and wraps his arms around his neck, tongue eagerly licking into his mouth, twisting his tongue with Arthur’s, tasting him, exploring him, _needing_ him. Arthur’s hands are in his hair when he finally pushes him back for air, eyes closed.

“I didn’t know you were gay,” Merlin says questioningly. “I mean … I wondered, but … you never … well, _I_ never … I didn’t think. You -” He pauses and shakes his head like a little drowned, discombobulated puppy. “What just happened?”

“ _You_ are _precious_ ,” Arthur says seriously. “Don’t let anyone touch you who doesn’t treat you that way. Promise me.” Merlin looks at him in confusion.

“Okay,” he agrees slowly, face full of questions that Arthur’s not ready to answer.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

They’re at The White Rabbit, some kind of college JCR mid-term pizza/karaoke night, and Merlin’s sitting on the table opposite from Arthur, glancing at him between every mouthful of pizza, grinning goofily and pulling faces every time Arthur makes eye contact. Since kissing him, Arthur has tried to limit contact to lectures only. He likes him too much - _feels_ too much. He can’t _be_ gay. He’s not that guy, however much he wants Merlin. Arthur smiles back tightly and watches regretfully as Merlin’s grin begins to falter when he doesn’t respond in kind. He doesn’t see Merlin again until much later in the evening, when he’s leaning over the bar animatedly discussing _Counting Crows_ vs. _Coldplay_ with a hairy Latino with a mean face, eyes bloodshot and high on something, hand on Merlin’s arse, scanning the room for a better option whilst Merlin eagerly discusses the merits of American vs. British alternative indie pop. Arthur materialises at the bar next to them and shakes his head minutely at Merlin, who furrows his brow quizzically before making an _oh!_ expression, and sliding away from Rapey Bastard Number God-Knows-What.

“I’m _soooo_ sorry,” Merlin shrugs at the man, “my boyfriend’s just arrived. Nice to meet you!” He scampers away before the man can react and sidles up next to Arthur at the bar, resting his chin on his shoulder. “You can buy me a double G&T for avoiding and ignoring me,” he says reasonably, leaning forwards on knobbly elbows and looking up at Arthur with a rare vulnerability and challenge in his eyes. “And don’t cock-block me unless you want me yourself. A man has needs, Arthur.” Arthur raises his eyes to the heavens and prays for strength.

“You’re an impossible little madam, you know that?” He prods Merlin in the chest. “I’m not cock-blocking you, I’m re-educating you. Why’d you always go for the creepy-as-fuck older drug-addled lechers who want any skinny, twinky arse they can find for a few hours, rather than _you_ , specifically?” Merlin puts on his trademark _do not patronise me_ expression and shouts “ _GIN AND TONIC!!”_ at the long-suffering barman.

“Because I don’t _know_ anybody who wants me, ‘specifically’,” he says, waggling his eyebrows at the word and pouting at Arthur. He moves into Arthur’s space again, until their knees are bumping. “Do _you_?” he asks quietly. Arthur sneaks a furtive look around the bar, making sure that Leon and Percy and Val and Elyan aren’t around - no-one who knows him from Eton, or college, or rugby or rowing. Merlin slurps at his drink through a straw, swinging his legs and kicking Arthur’s shins as he observes him, head tilted to the side. “You’re not out, are you?” he says, as if figuring out a puzzle at last. Arthur shakes his head. Merlin keeps kicking him. “I’m okay with that,” he says, half a statement, half an offer. Arthur’s heart leaps against his will, and he almost feels tears spring into his eyes.

“Can we go home?” he asks. “I feel like a Super Mario game-a-thon and strawberry and lime Kopparberg rather than a wipeout.” Merlin widens his eyes in alarm and hisses _sshh!_ loudly. “What?” Arthur asks.

“Strawberry and lime _Kopparberg_ , Arthur!” he signals dramatically. “You’re going to out yourself immediately, you fool! Even _I …_ ” Merlin pauses, “ - and I am _very_ gay - drink Strongbow if I’m having cider. What’s wrong with you, man?” Arthur can’t help but laugh at Merlin’s ridiculousness, smiling at the fond expression on Merlin’s face.

“Drink up,” Arthur instructs, and Merlin dutifully downs his drink and licks his lips, waiting obediently by the bar for Arthur to lead them home.

 

They’ve been playing _Mario_ for a couple of hours, drinking cider and eating crisps side-by-side on Arthur’s bed, until finally Arthur pauses the game, having worked up the courage to do what he wanted to do from day one, and crawls over Merlin, pushing him backwards and pressing him gently into the bed, kissing him with a slow, worshipful reverence, sweet and tender, fingers softly trailing up his spine and over his ribs, whispering across his smooth skin and making Merlin sigh into Arthur’s mouth. Where Arthur is slow and steady, Merlin is urgent and impatient, scrambling to pull off Arthur’s shirt, unbutton his trousers, take off his own clothes, until Arthur pins his wrists to the bed above his head and looks at him disapprovingly.

“I’m not just another body to fuck, _Mer_ lin,” he says pointedly, kissing the corner of his mouth. “It’s _me_. You’ll spend all night with me and wake up with me and _there’s no hurry with me_. I won’t be gone in the morning.” Merlin groans and rolls to sit on top of him, biting his mouth crossly.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a condescending, patronising, supercilious _arse?_ ” he queries lightly, leaning down to mouth wet kisses at Arthur’s neck. “I’m impatient because you’re the hottest man I’ve ever met in my life and I cannot _believe_ that I’m getting to touch you _,_ and I want you right-the-fuck now, and then as many more times as possible until morning, or until one of us breaks our dicks, or you change your mind or something.” Arthur holds his waist with one hand and pulls his head down with the other, kissing Merlin softly until he feels him go lax, lying on top of his chest and allowing Arthur to roll him to his side so that they’re naked and entwined with each other, chest to chest, groin to groin, legs entangled, arms locked around each other’s backs and fingers in each other’s hair.

“I’m not changing my mind,” Arthur mouths into his neck, and Merlin slows down then, allowing Arthur to kiss him languidly and lazily, calmly and affectionately whilst he strokes two slicked-up fingers in and out of Merlin’s arse, pumping more and more lube into him until he’s wet and loose and dripping with anticipation, sensitive prostate stimulated and weeping cock desperate for something _more_. He never begs though. He takes what Arthur gives him, trusting Arthur to make him feel good. When Arthur turns him on to his belly, lifting one knee up to help him push easily and fully inside, Merlin keens long and low, humping the bed erratically, urgently seeking friction. Arthur stills his hips, locks them in an iron grip, and kisses his neck, breathing hotly into the space between his ear and shoulder, stroking in and out, nudging his prostrate on every in-thrust, stroking Merlin’s cock on every out-pull, and Merlin’s floating bonelessly along a river of agonising pleasure, the strange, counter-rhythm Arthur has set playing with his mind, jolting him from wave of bliss to wave of bliss, and before he knows it, he’s gasping into the sheets and coming into Arthur’s hand, orgasm slamming into him more powerfully than he’s ever felt before, and then crescendoing in wave after wave of aftershocks, involuntary muscle contractions shaking through his body like an earthquake, leaving him shaking like jelly, and totally incapable of speaking. Arthur groans and bites his lower throat as he also comes, and Merlin wishes there was no condom, so he could properly feel Arthur inside him. Arthur pants against his back for a while, eventually rolling off with a grunt, pulling off his condom, tying it, and flinging it roughly in the direction of the wastepaper basket. He settles back against his pillows and smiles as Merlin sprawls across him like a starfish/octopus, head nuzzled under his chin, all limbs wrapped around or pushed between Arthur’s, bodily hugging him.

“Are you having an afterglow right now?” Merlin suddenly asks, tilting his head back to squint, cross-eyed at Arthur - who can’t help but laugh at his peculiar bed-mate.

“Yes, Merlin. I’m enjoying a dazzling, golden afterglow, thank you for your body and sex.” Merlin humphs into his pectoral muscles and then gently takes Arthur’s nipple between his teeth, nibbling and tonguing at it whilst Arthur moans quietly and strokes his hair.

“Tell me when it’s over,” Merlin commands, licking the small nub between his lips and whining as Arthur pulls his hair, making him tip his head back. “Ow!” Merlin says, rubbing his skull. “Very unnecessary abuse, that.” Arthur tugs his hair again.

“What, _in God’s holy name_ , is up, Merls?” Merlin shrugs, and makes a cute little moue that has Arthur chasing his mouth as he rests his chin on his arms on Arthur’s chest.

“Is this -” Merlin gesticulates a finger between the two of them, “- going to be a one-night only kind of thing? Just so I don’t lose my heart by the morning.” He sounds joking and authoritative, but Arthur can hear the underlying nervousness, the insecurity in his features, the downwards curve of his lips. He strokes his hand down Merlin’s smooth back, across his arse, cupping it possessively, making Merlin close his eyes and squirm. Arthur’s confused as fuck about a lot of stuff, but he knows with absolute certainty, that he wants to do that again. And that he’d really prefer other men to remain outside a 100 metre radius of Merlin at all times. He leans down to kiss him, deciding for honesty.

“I want you,” he says sincerely, pulling Merlin up into his arms, and cradling him against his chest. “Only you, and I want you to only want me. But I’m not ready to be public yet, and I don’t know if I will be. It’s not fair to ask you to hide, when you’re happily out, so I think the decision about where this goes after tonight is yours to make, not mine.” Merlin nods and rolls onto his back. He’s quiet for a while, and Arthur lets him think. Eventually he sits up, cross-legged, and reaches down to get his phone. Arthur looks at him quizzically whilst he taps something on his screen, face scrunched up. Eventually Arthur huffs and pulls his cock to get his attention.

“That’s not a doorbell,” Merlin says very sternly. Arthur smiles.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he asks impatiently.

“Ordering Dominos,” Merlin replies as though it’s obvious. Arthur kisses his knee.

“Why are you ordering pizza, when we already had pizza for supper?” Merlin looks down at him.

“I’ve never had a boyfriend, or an exclusive partner, or a relationship, or anything where I mattered to someone, and I always thought that when that day arrived, I’d get myself a Pepperoni Passion in celebration. With Ben & Jerry’s peanut butter cup ice-cream for pudding. And chicken wings, because love makes you fly, right? What do you want?” Arthur laughs into his pillow, tackling Merlin to lie down next to him, and kissing every bit of skin he can reach; his soft ears, his long neck, the dip in his collarbone.

“Am I your boyfriend?” Arthur asks. Merlin looks into his eyes and nods.

“My secret, illicit boyfriend.” Arthur beams.

“I’ll have a Meatfeast,” he says. Merlin rolls his eyes.

“Of _course_ he chooses a Meatfeast,” he mutters, thumbing Arthur’s order into his phone and hitting Order. Arthur slides down his body under the covers and takes his cock into his mouth, sucking Merlin into hardness, loving the weight and feel and texture of his dick on his tongue, his mouth feeling full, wrapped in the very _scent_ of Merlin, his thin thighs around Arthur’s neck, and Merlin jerkily arches upwards, fucking Arthur’s mouth, running fingers through his hair. “You’ll lose your appetite,” he breathes, thumb stroking the corner of Arthur’s lips stretched wide around his cock, “no-one should have a protein shake before a pizza.” Arthur hums with laughter around him, and the extra pressure and vibration has Merlin coming hot and hard down his throat in seconds. Arthur rolls him over, quickly slips on a new condom, and then fucks into his already lubed-up hole without preamble, fucking him hard and fast until he’s shaken out his second release. They lie pressed together in sticky, sweaty silence, stroking each other and basking in their closeness.

 

*

 

Having a secret relationship isn’t as tricky as Arthur imagined it would be. All his friends have already accepted Merlin as ‘Arthur’s odd, gay-as-a-sugarplum-fairy, History classmate’, and Merlin’s friends have already accepted Arthur as ‘Merlin’s posh, heteronormative, wank-fantasy course-mate’, so it’s pretty normal for them all to hang out together on nights out, or to support Arthur’s sporting fixtures - college rugby and college rowing - or to decamp to the Oxford Union to watch speakers or debates or pitch teams against each other at the quiz nights. They’re in a lot of the same seminars and tutorials, except for the ones where Arthur’s doing his politics joint-major. Everyone gets they’re both kind of geeks, which explains a lot about why they get on, and so they’re left alone to go to games cafés and squabble over words that do or do not exist, and alternative cinemas to watch indie or cult movies … and if the rest of the time they’re either in Merlin or Arthur’s rooms licking every inch of each other’s naked bodies, locked together with sometimes frightening intensity, then no-one else needs to know about it.

 


	3. Chapter 3

“Have you ever done it bare?” Arthur asks one night approaching Christmas, both dozing in a post-coital cuddle, and Merlin nods into his chest. Arthur feels the familiar, irrational sense of jealousy that other people have been intimate with the man he’s fairly certain he’s in love with. He kisses Merlin’s dark curls. “How did you know it was safe?” he murmurs into his hair. Merlin shrugs.

“I didn’t, I guess.” Arthur feels his heart hammering painfully in his chest. Merlin must hear his pulse going crazy, and runs soothing fingers across his chest. “I knew I was gay literally as soon as I hit puberty,” he begins to explain, giving Arthur another bit of himself, as he does randomly. “Where I come from, in Ealdor … I’m  _literally_  the only gay in the village. My best friend from home - Freya - she was telling her dad about it, and me, and how sad it was that everyone at school was dating and I’d never even  _met_  another gay person. Next time I stayed over for our Star Wars marathon nights he fucked me over the kitchen sink.” Merlin stops and Arthur feels sick, but keeps running reassuring strokes up and down his spine, through his hair. “I guess he was gay but never felt he could come out? I don’t know. He married, had kids, chose to be eternally closeted, and when he found out his daughter had a horny seventeen-year-old gay friend desperate to have sex, he saw an opportunity to have the kind of sex he secretly wanted. He was, like,  _massively_  homophobic and hated that part of himself, so the sex was always rough, like I disgusted him. And I guess I was kind of disgusted at myself - keeping secrets from Freya, and being the person her dad was cheating on her mum with - so maybe I felt like I deserved to be treated like I was disgusting, so it was okay? It was always from behind, always hard, always fast, he never used condoms. He used to call me a little cockslut.” Merlin carefully kisses Arthur’s skin. “The weird thing was, I still enjoyed it. It was nice to have my sexuality validated, for someone to want me for my body, for me to able to make someone come, and have that kind of power. We kind of developed a routine - he’d work late a couple of nights a week and I’d cycle to his law firm to let him fuck me on the floor of his office, or in the loos against the stalls.” He stops again, and Arthur is horrified to feel that Merlin is growing hard.

“The memory of him still turns you on?” he asks incredulously, cold inside. Merlin kind of shrugs.

“It was the first sex I knew, it’s how I learnt to orgasm. It lasted for a few months, until my last year of school, when Freya started saying her dad was acting weird, and I couldn’t deal with the guilt anymore. I told Edwin I was done, and he hit me, and then it was easy not to go back. As soon as I was eighteen I joined Grindr and started hooking up with guys at uni in the nearest city - Cardiff. None of them wanted a relationship. It was all drugs and chemsex. I liked that too. It felt exciting to be so openly sexual. Seriously Arthur, the chemsex scene is literally like  _orgies_  of men.” Arthur really, really doesn’t want to know. He feels totally sick. “I only did it at weekends, so I guess I was lucky I didn’t fall into it that much - I was more focused on getting my grades for Oxford. But at those parties, I was high, and it was pretty much a free-for-all buffet of fuck, so guys used to fuck me from behind at the same time someone else was fucking my mouth. I guess sometimes they used protection, sometimes they didn’t. Same with the guys when I first arrived at Oxford. I think maybe I was becoming a bit hardwired to like rough, demeaning sex.” Merlin half-looks up at Arthur, avoiding making eye contact. “Obviously I know how much better it is when someone cares about you now,” he adds quietly. At Arthur’s silence, he continues. “Part of me knew I had to limit my interaction with that world. It fucks people up. Overdoses, suicides, AIDS. Sometimes it wasn’t even fun, a lot of the blokes were awful. One guy took me out on a burger date and spent the whole meal telling me how unattractive I was, my knobbly limbs and my flappy ears, and how he was fucking loads of other people that were better than me, just not available that particular evening, and I just sat there and ate my burger and chips and went back to his flat and let him fuck me bare on his sofa. I don’t really know why, now. I was really fucking stupid.” Arthur wants to punch Merlin he agrees so much, but instead he grips him tighter to his chest.

“You need to get tested,” he says urgently. “We’ve been together three months and we’ve been using condoms and PrEP, so we should be safe. But if you got anything before then, they’ll be able to pick it up in tests now.” Merlin is quiet against his chest. “I’ll come with you Merls,” Arthur promises. “I’ll get tested too. If we’re both clean we can get rid of the condoms.”

“Okay,” Merlin whispers.

“If we’re clean,” Arthur says, looking at Merlin seriously, “and we go bare, I have to be able to trust that you’re not going to fall back into old habits Merls.” Merlin scrunches up his face like he’s torn between being outraged and confused and sad. Eventually he sits up and turns to look down at Arthur, intensely vulnerable.

“I would never cheat on you,” he says simply. “I don’t want to, and I wouldn’t put myself in situations where chemicals might change my mind about that.” He puts a hand on Arthur’s lower belly, touching gently. “If you don’t trust me, we shouldn’t be together. I know you don’t approve of my lifestyle before you, and if I disgust you, we also shouldn’t be together.” Arthur twines his fingers through Merlin’s.

“I want to trust you, but you’ve literally just told me you’re probably at high-risk of having HIV, and you never thought to tell me, or get tested, to make sure sex with me was safe for both of us. So I have to question, I’m sorry.” He kisses Merlin’s fingers in apology. “I  _don’t_ approve of your former lifestyle, no, but only because you’re the sweetest, kindest, funniest, loveliest, weirdest, most gorgeous human I have ever met, and I’m in love with you, and I hate -  _hate -_ ” Arthur emphasises the word, “that you put yourself in danger like that. You don’t disgust me. Your lack of self-preservation  _terrifies_  me.” Merlin lies on top of him and kisses his nose.

“I’m in love with you too,” he grins, tentatively, “and I have  _you_  to preserve my-self now.” Arthur sighs, and pulls Merlin down to kiss him.

 

By some miracle, Merlin gets the All Clear. Arthur pays for a private walk-in clinic the next day with results-on-the-spot blood and urine testing. Arthur gets the all clear too. Merlin dances out of the clinic ecstatically doing a little jig up the street like a mad, cartoon leprechaun. Arthur’s relieved, but also deeply horrified by everything’s he’s learnt about Merlin over the past twenty-four hours. It’s made him question how well he knows his lover. He seems so carefree and happy and grounded and popular, but inside he’s a much more vulnerable person. No-one with any self-respect or sense of self-worth would allow themselves to be treated the way he has been.

“Let’s go to The Turf Tavern!” Merlin jogs beside him, kind of star jumping his way down the road. “I couldn’t eat breakfast this morning I was so nervous and now I am  _soooo_  hungry. Get me some jerky duck and blackened peach salsa with a side of pepperoni macaroni!” Arthur grimaces. Merlin’s appetite - and sense of taste - is truly a revolting thing to behold. “We need to line the bellies anyway,” he says, rubbing his stomach, “It’s the Michaelmas Ball tonight! Lash, lash, lash,” he dances merrily, and Arthur quietly follows behind him, settling in a cosy corner of the tavern in front of an open log fire, and getting them both a pint of bitter. Merlin takes a large slurp of his and then beams with a frothy white foam moustache at Arthur. Arthur smiles tiredly. “You don’t seem happy,” Merlin comments. “You’ve barely said two words all morning. Arthur, we got the A/C!!! You know what that means, right!?” He waggles his eyebrows meaningfully. Arthur knows that, in theory, they’re safe to have unprotected sex now. But he really, really doesn’t want to. Something about being just another guy that pumps Merlin full of semen makes him feel a little sick. At least using condoms, he feels like he’s the one that’s different. He’s the one treating Merlin with respect.

“Not yet,” Arthur smiles tightly, not feeling at all hungry. Merlin frowns at him.

“Why on earth not?” Arthur shrugs uneasily. He definitely  _can’t_ be honest about this without hurting, offending, and potentially irrevocably alienating his boyfriend.

“It’s just a weird time to do it,” he hedges. “We’re all off home for Christmas in a few days, we won’t be seeing each other for a while.”

“So?” Merlin asks again, blankly. “I’ve already said I’ll come home with you to London for a couple of weeks, or Mum’s invited you to stay at ours, we don’t have to hide there. Plus we all said we’d probably come back to uni early anyway, to do New Year’s together, and maybe a camping trip or something? We only won’t see each other for a while if you don’t want to see me for a while.” The question is implicit in his carefully neutral tone.

“Edwin’s in Ealdor, right?” Arthur asks. Freya’s dad. Merlin frowns again, deeply confused, and nods. Arthur really, really,  _really_ cannot meet Edwin. He’d probably thump him one, and the guy’s in his late forties and will either die, or be able to lamp him back, harder.  _Or_  sue him for GBH, given that he’s a lawyer. And quite apart from his desire to cause damage to the man that is basically responsible for setting Merlin down a path of self-destruction, he also can’t forget - or forgive - the way Merlin’s cock hardened thinking about him. He’s never been so hurt before in all his life. If Edwin flirts or drops innuendos and Merlin responds … it would literally be the end of their relationship.

“Arthur?” Merlin asks, as though it’s the third or fourth time he’s asked the question. Arthur blinks at him.

“Yes?” Merlin rolls his eyes and carefully presses his leg against Arthur’s under the table. He flicks his eyes across the room to check their present company, before turning his serious gaze to Arthur.

“I love you. Edwin is a footnote. You are my main story.” Arthur smiles at the Merlin-ness of the comment.

“I wish I could kiss you,” he says quietly. Merlin nudges his knee with a private smile.

“Kiss me everywhere later,” he commands.

 

Merlin looks fantastic in a tux, as Arthur knew he would. He also somehow manages to make the tux look scruffy and raffishly debonair, which Arthur also suspected he might do. Arthur, for his part, knows he looks like James Bond in a tux - he was made for formal wear - and he appreciates the lustful glint and actual drool from Merlin when they meet in the Magdalen quad to walk to the ball together. It’s hard being drunk and remembering not to touch Merlin. All around them couples are dancing, kissing, sitting on each other’s laps. Percy is dating a horsey-but-fun girl called Elena (English, ex Marlborough), Leon is dating Elena’s friend Mithian (also English, also ex Marlborough), and Merlin’s friends all have dates too: Gwen brought Lance, Will brought Sefa, Gilli brought Vivien. All straight, all normal, all  _allowed_  to kiss in public. Their mates think they’re both single because they spend too much time together. Arthur’s fed up of the lies. He hates that on the other side of the room, two boys are making out against the wall and no-one’s batting an eyelid, whilst here he is with the most striking, elfin, ethereal man in the room - a man he’s  _proud_ of loving - and no-one knows he belongs to him. Merlin, for his part, seems spectacularly unbothered about the whole affair, cheerfully discussing which jocks have the best arses with Gwen and Sefa and Elena with a paper napkin tied around his head like a crown, Christmas cracker monocle firmly in place, squinting around the room like a mad, one-eyed old man. Arthur stands up abruptly and stalks over to stand behind Merlin, leaning down until his head is right by Merlin’s ear.

“I’m fairly certain you think  _I_ have the best arse actually,” he says loud enough for everyone in the group to hear, and then very publicly takes Merlin’s face between both his hands and tenderly kisses him on this lips, laughing as his monocle falls out. Merlin blinks up at him, an uncertain smile spreading across his face.

“I didn’t think you wanted your arse to be objectified, but it is the most beautiful, perfect thing I ever did see,” he gabbles, standing up and moving around the chair to stand near Arthur. “Are we out of Narnia?” he whispers quizzically, and Arthur smiles and kisses him in a Hollywood, foot-popping, swooning kind of way, dipping him low and then sweeping him gracefully upwards. It takes some time for him to realise that all -  _all_ \- their friends and friends partners, are catcalling them with identical gobsmacked/well of  _course_ /impressed/shit-eating expressions on their faces, and Arthur laughs, linking his fingers with Merlin’s.

“I love him,” Arthur points at Merlin. “I hope none of you have a problem with that.” They all shake their head like dumb puppets and Merlin laughs into Arthur’s shoulder.

“You broke them,” he teases. “And they all already know I love you. I tell them basically every time I get drunk.” They all nod, still stupefied.

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” Arthur mutters, pulling Merlin onto the dance floor, “come on you.” It’s glorious being able to swing Merlin around the room, to openly kiss him when he does his ridiculous banana-legs manoeuvre, his parking the car sequence … all terrible, all sexy,  _so_  inexplicable.

 

In bed later Merlin is wilder and more uninhibited than ever, arching his body open for Arthur, pulling his legs apart and open for Arthur to rock between, legs over Arthur’s shoulders, eyes closed as Arthur makes love to him, rocking into him hard and repeatedly until he’s come untouched with a mewling cry. He’s still wearing a condom, which Merlin doesn’t get, but fortunately he’s drunk, and drunk Merlin is not the most inquisitive of Merlins. Arthur’s finding it hard to come, so he rolls over, happy to accept defeat, and is on his way to pulling off the condom when Merlin flaps his hands away, scandalised that he’s thinking of  _not finishing_. He stands up and leans against the door, legs splayed wide, hands holding his arse open. He looks back over his shoulder invitingly.

“You can fuck me through the door like this,” Merlin explains. “As hard as you like.” His eyes are dark, and Arthur glances at his twitching cock. Merlin wants more. Arthur stands up and moves behind him, sliding back in easily. Merlin starts slamming himself back on Arthur’s cock, head pressed against his arms on the door, bracing himself, and Arthur meets him thrust for thrust. “ _Harder,”_ Merlin says breathlessly, shoving himself harder against Arthur, “I want it to  _hurt_ , Arthur.” Arthur grips his hips and pistons into him hard and fast, feeling Merlin’s body begin to hum beneath his fingers as the tension builds again. “I need more,” Merlin gasps out, trembling beneath Arthur’s fingers. Arthur keeps slamming into him.

“What do you need?” he murmurs into his neck. Merlin twists his head to the side.

“Bite me. Draw blood. Scratch me. Pull my hair. Anything Arthur …  _just give me more_ , please.” Arthur bites the tender flesh between Merlin’s neck and shoulder, pulling his hair back hard with one hand and using the other to pinch his nipple, and Merlin groans and begins coming, his expletives and clenching muscles tipping Arthur over the edge too. Merlin smiles in dopey satisfaction, turning around and tangling his tongue with Arthur’s in a sleepy thank you before face-planting inelegantly into bed, but Arthur leans against the wall for a while, shaking, allowing his heartbeat to drop and for himself to cool down, shocked that Merlin came so hard from pain, hating that he wanted aggression from Arthur. When he eventually gets into bed next to Merlin, he tries to keep a few centimetres between them. Merlin immediately gravitates towards his warmth, subconsciously searching out his body-heat, attaching himself to Arthur like an over-friendly snuffling limpet. Arthur stiffens.

“Whassup?” Merlin mumbles sleepily.

“I hurt you,” Arthur replies.

“Not really,” Merlin says. “It was  _ah - maz - ing_.” He breaks the word down into three syllables, blissed out.

“Do you wish we had sex like that more often?” Merlin frowns, half-unconscious.

“I like  _all_ sex with you,” he murmurs slowly, “but we never do it rough. I know why … but. Sometimes rough is good. You can love me and still want to break me sometimes. That’s passion.” Arthur doesn’t think wanting to  _break_ someone is passion - it’s abuse. His mind is churning again. He thought the biggest barrier to having a relationship with Merlin would be his lack of desire to be openly gay. That still might be an issue, in terms of his future, career, father. But right now, with friends he trusts, he’s happy for a small group to know about them, and for him that’s progress. The  _real_  issue in their relationship, he’s realising, is Merlin’s seemingly pathological desire to be damaged, or hurt. Emotional or physical - some part of him thrives on pain. Arthur wonders how long he’ll stick around if Arthur can’t - or won’t give it to him.

 


	4. Chapter 4

In the end, Arthur does visit Ealdor over Christmas. Predominantly because Merlin’s mum knows about their relationship and is happy for him to sleep in Merlin’s room, delighted that her son has a loving boyfriend at last, and in Arthur’s house, Merlin would just have to play house guest, sleeping in the spare room.

 

It’s much easier than he expects. Merlin’s mother is a charming lady, welcoming both boys ‘home’ with hugs and scones and tea. Merlin’s bedside table has been freshly re-stocked with lube and a variety of different condoms, and two named bullet vibrators on a keyring, which appal Arthur, but just make Merlin shake his head fondly.

“ _This_  is where you get it from,” Arthur says flatly, studying his miniature ‘Arthur’ vibrator with something nearing resignation. “Your mother is a hussy.” Merlin wallops him round the head with a pillow, which seems fair enough really.

“Oh hush,” he chides Arthur, climbing onto his lap like a baby koala, “she’s just trying to show us both she’s supportive and modern and open-minded … how many people’s mams help them practice safe  _and_ enjoyable _toy-stimulated_ sex!? She drove forty miles twice a month when I was in Sixth Form to an LGBT Parents Foundation, just to find out how to help me ‘blossom into my truest self.’ That’s love.”

“She created a monster,” Arthur refutes into Merlin’s mouth, squealing when Merlin tickles behind his right ear with his vibrator. He smiles at Arthur smugly.

“You squeal like a girl,” he says happily, sliding off Arthur’s lap and onto his knees, unzipping him and taking him out, blowing Arthur hard and fast, dark head buried between his jean-clad thighs, flashes of blue looking up at him. He bites back his moan when he comes, conscious of Merlin’s mum on the floor below, and strokes Merlin’s glistening lips when he pulls off.

“Why the hell would you do that with your mother  _awake_  and  _perfectly able to hear us_?” Arthur asks, scandalised. Merlin grins at him from the floor.

“I’ve never had a boy in my room before. I’m making it up to my younger self.” Arthur smiles, pleased to be Merlin’s first  _something_ , and slides to the floor to sit beside his boyfriend.

“Well, why didn’t you  _say …_?” he asks, proceeding to debauch Merlin, very, very thoroughly, lying him on his belly and tongue-fucking him until he ejaculates with a shuddering, stifled groan onto his carpet. When they come down for dinner, Arthur notices that Merlin has a wet patch at the front of his trousers and blushes furiously, wincing when he sees Hunith spot it too.

“Darling, if you’re going to have sex before supper, at least take the time to  _dress for dinner_ ,” she chastises Merlin, swatting his backside with a hand towel. Merlin looks down and laughs.

“Oops,” he says, kissing her cheek.

“Do I want to know where that mouth has been?” she asks.

“Only on Arthur,” Merlin reasons. “He’s clean. We got tested.”

“Well they did say Oxford would be rigorous in its assessments,” Hunith remarks, plating up peas. Arthur is dying quietly at the table, watching Merlin and Hunith’s completely inappropriate banter and verbal one-upmanship with the same morbid fascination he’d watch a car crash. “Did you also pass?”

“Remarkably, I did, mother, and I can tell you that no-one was more surprised than me.”

“Perhaps you should prepare more for these things.” Merlin nods very seriously.

“Arthur’s very sensible, don’t worry. He’s my new study buddy, aren’t you Arthur? We practice for tests together.” Arthur looks around wildly for the nearest bottle of wine and panics when he can’t see  _any_  alcohol.

“You’re both horrifying human beings,” he moans, aghast. “You’re just as bad as each other! I’m screwed!”

“Well, one would hope so,” Hunith sniffs. Merlin cracks up and waves a bottle of Merlot in Arthur’s direction.

 

Bizarrely, they all get very, very drunk. Arthur’s never been drunk with someone’s mum before, but Hunith is kind of a mad, alternative hippie, and Arthur can see so much of her in Merlin that he loves her too, pretty instantly. She makes pottery and soap and fudge and greetings cards and runs a local organic farm/gift shop, popular with the tourists who come to the area to see the castles. After supper she insists on playing Twister, and Arthur spins the dial and continues to drink Hunith’s supply of port whilst she and Merlin kick each other to get their LEFT FOOT ON RED. Arthur thinks of his ‘bonding’ evenings with his father, drinking Scotch and reading in the same room, and wonders if the difference in parenting styles is genetic or gendered. Maybe if he’d known his mum, she’d have been like this too? Merlin is shouting  _“stop it, you horrible wench!”_ at his mother, and Hunith is shouting  _“how did I grow so many sodding elbows inside me?”_ and Arthur makes an Executive Decision.

“Enough, the pair of you!” he commands, standing up and watching both of them flop to the floor, panting and red faced. “We are going to the pub,” he proclaims, and Hunith sits up immediately, nodding.

“Yes, what an excellent plan,” she says, rolling onto her knees and straightening her apron, I’ll get my ball and we’ll play beer pong. Arthur actually  _feels_  his jaw drop. Merlin stumbles to his feet.

“You are going to  _reeeaaaallly_ regret this,” he slurs as she totters out of the room. “My mam is a fucking  _epic_  pong player.” Arthur shakes his head mournfully. “This explains so much,” he pats Merlin’s leg comfortingly. “Like,  _so_ much.” Merlin just beams at him.

 

It turns out that all of Ealdor is pretty barking, Arthur decides. Merlin’s Uncle Gaius is the landlord, and he happily sets up pint glasses along a long trestle table for his sister’s game; his wife Alice adds to the fun by making the drinks Irish Car Bombs rather than pints of beer (Guinness with a shot of Irish cream and a shot of whisky dropped in, Arthur discovers), and Hunith and Merlin look at each other and screech  _BOMB PONG!_ at the same time, causing at least half the pub to stand up and cheer, and make their way over. Merlin’s friend Freya is in the mix, and she and he spin each other round squealing loudly enough that two pigs in the corner wake up and start squealing with them.

“How’s Leeds?”

“How’s Oxford?”

“How’s Paul?”

“How’s Arthur?”

“Any more tattoos?”

“Any STDs yet?”

Their chat is a rapid cross-fire of information, where they seem to glean absolutely nothing from each other, but nod as though they’re getting all the answers they need. Arthur’s pleasantly surprised by Freya - firstly the girl herself, who is pretty rock’n’roll with her pierced nose and dark hair dip-dyed pink and Horcrux tattoo on her wrist - but also by the fact that she seems to know all about Arthur and be such a huge fan of his already.

“Prince Charming!” she shouts, throwing herself into his arms. “S’what our Merls calls you, Prince Charming, on account of the  _golden locks_  and legs  _built for riding a stallion_.”

“Shut up,” Merlin says flatly, “when I called you that time I was drunk.” Freya shakes her head at him.

“Lies, little bro. All lies.”

“Is that the Evenstar?” Arthur asks, looking at the luminescent Celtic twist at her neck.

“Okay, you’re totally my little bro too!” Freya declares, making heart-shaped eyes at Merlin, and Arthur finds that very weird, because she’s about two feet shorter than him and probably a few months younger. She plays Bomb Pong fiercely and Arthur soon learns that she’s a bit like a bullet; tiny, and very, very dangerous. Arthur proves to be quite good at the game - he modestly explains that he’s something of a sportsman, to Merlin’s happy nodding - but she and Hunith and Merlin and Alice and her older brothers Jimmy and Tommy and some old guy that looks too old  _to be alive_ , who Merlin calls  _Ole’ Ken_ , all prance around the table throwing golf balls at each other, when they can’t get the balls in the glasses themselves, and whoever gets hit has to down the dirty pint. It’s more like Dodgeball, really. And it probably explains at least half of Merlin’s bruises. There’s a slightly awkward moment when Merlin stops running (and gets hit in the back of the head by a ball from Jimmy), as a tall, middle-aged, red-headed man strolls into the pub with his dark-haired wife, who rushes forwards and envelops a frozen Merlin in a warm bear-hug.

“Our Merlin’s home!” she gushes, squeezing him close. “And Freya says you’ve a lovely, posh young man from Oxford now?” Arthur tries to smile as Merlin proudly twists around and points at him, as he realises that this is Freya’s mother, which makes the red-headed man at the door … Edwin. He looks over to find Edwin smiling at him with what seems to be genuine warmth. He comes over and shakes Arthur’s hand.

“Welcome to Ealdor,” he grins. “Everyone’s mad,” he whispers conspiratorially, “but don’t tell them I told you.” Arthur has to laugh, because, well … yeah. “We’re so pleased Merlin’s happy,” he says sincerely, patting Arthur’s shoulder and walking towards the bar, fending off Freya and his sons, who are swarming round him, begging him to play Pong. He must be a good actor, because he seems like a genuinely nice man, clearly an adored husband and father and a popular member of the local community. If he’s had to hide his sexuality all his life, Arthur feels nothing but compassion for him, pity for the despair and regret he must feel every day at the life not lived. It’s hard to reconcile the man in front of him with the cruel, angry man Merlin described. Maybe he’d be angry too, if he wasn’t brave enough to spend his life openly with someone like Merlin. It makes him realise with a fierce certainty, that he never wants that. He can’t live with that kind of self-hatred. He looks up to find Merlin glancing at him with a questioning  _everything okay?_ eyebrow, and Arthur nods, but suddenly feeling very, very tired. More than ever, he doesn’t understand why Merlin would let himself be so demeaned and used. He’s so  _loved_ , and secure in that love - from a whole community. He may well be the only (openly) gay in the village, but he’s not an outcast for it, he’s not isolated. He’s far more embraced by his family and friends and neighbours than Arthur’s ever been - the mystery of Merlin just doesn’t make sense to Arthur.

 

At eleven, Gaius rings the bell for last orders, and Arthur (talking to Hunith and Alice about the best way to grow weed), realises he hasn’t seen Merlin for a while. He quickly scans the room and can’t see Edwin either. Lurching up from the table under the premise of needing the loo, and feeling sick to his stomach, he makes his way to the restrooms, hoping to find the two men. The bathroom is empty, but Arthur hears voices further along the corridor. They seem to be coming from a store cupboard.

“I was weak, and I handled everything wrong,” one is saying very, very quietly - Edwin, Arthur realises. “It wasn’t fair on you, or on my family. I’m so sorry, Merlin, for the way I treated you. You deserved far better than I gave you.” Arthur doesn’t hear a response, so he edges forwards further and peers round the door to see Merlin hugging Edwin, Edwin stroking his hair. He leans down and kisses Merlin’s forehead, and Arthur sees the willpower it takes to withdraw, not to lean down further and kiss Merlin’s mouth. Merlin makes that decision for him, holding his face between two slender hands, and kissing Edwin briefly on the lips before standing back. Arthur sees it for what it is - goodbye.

“I’m loved now,” Merlin says simply, and Edwin nods, his face full of sadness.

“He’s a very handsome young man,” Edwin smiles, and Merlin grins his blinding, sweet, forgiving smile, shattering Arthur’s heart at the thought that  _all that happiness is for him._ He realises, then, how truly Merlin loves him, and it staggers him. He quietly slips back to the pub, drunk and inwardly crowing, and when Merlin re-emerges and collapses into his lap flinging his arms wide and saying in a loud, mid-west American drawl,  _why, Captain, take me home and have your wicked way with me_ , placing one hand on his heart and the other dramatically across his brow, Arthur is happy to sweep him off his feet and march him out of the pub with Hunith calling behind him  _USE THE MINCE PIE CONDOMS OR THEY’LL GO STALE!!!_ Arthur turns at the door to the pub.

“VERY INAPPROPRIATE!!” he bellows back. “AND YOUR SON TOLD YOU, WE’RE CLEAN. WE SHALL BE USING NO CONDOMS!” Hunith falls off her chair laughing, and Merlin looks at him in shock as he turns around and stalks out of the pub.

“You did not just say that to the whole of Ealdor,” he says, eyes wide with alarm and staring at Arthur warily. “We’ve corrupted you,” he says, thudding his head against Arthur’s shoulder sadly. “One evening is all it took for my fine English gentleman to be warped.” He hiccups into Arthur’s neck.

“I love your mother, and you, and Freya, and everyone in this village,” Arthur responds, smiling at Merlin’s pleased wriggle and happy sigh into his skin.

 

That night, there’s nothing at all rough about the way they make love. Merlin responds to soft kisses and gentle fingers and words of love and praise and devotion with an orgasm that shakes him so hard he cries, clinging to Arthur and settling as he’s held.

 


End file.
